She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. “I have scarcely left his side. Ann Veronica considered her answer. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. I didn’t dream, not even in my wildest dreaming, that—you might have any need of me.
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